


convulsive

by icarusinflight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boning, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pain, Sex Magic, bath boning to be specific, flipfest, if anywhere has the bath for it you know the bunker would, sex magic flipped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 15:37:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14751623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusinflight/pseuds/icarusinflight
Summary: “Me and Cas have a problem.” He swears he can hear Sam swallow down the line, and then silence.“What—do you—are you sure I’m the best person to have this conversation with?”“We are having problems touching,” Cas adds. It’s true, but it’s not helping with the Sam situation.Witches man. They fucking suck. Especially when they hit you with a spell to make every touch with your boyfriend new agony.





	convulsive

**Author's Note:**

> okay wow. This has been a product of many.  
> Thanks firstly to [Mal/Helah](http://helah.tumblr.com). They alpha read for me and pointed out some amazing stuff (and some that I totally did not take on because I'm like that.  
> Thank you to [OsirisApollo](https://osirisapollo.tumblr.com/) who helped me with alpha reading also, and helped me bring out some stuff I wanted in my fic.  
> THANK YOU SO MUCH to [destimushi](https://destimushi.tumblr.com/), who is amazing, and who beta read for me like a champ.  
> Thank you to [ cryptomoon/pantydean](https://pantydean.tumblr.com/) and [foxymoley](https://foxymoley.tumblr.com/) for my art, line credit to Crypto, and colour credit to Foxy. You guys are amazing and amazingly talented.  
> Please head over to [ think link](https://foxymoley.tumblr.com/post/175083148168/i-had-the-great-pleasure-of-collaborating-with) and show it some love!
> 
> Thank you lastly to all the mods of flipfest. you guys rock it all the way.

Dean hates witches.

It’s hardly a new sentiment. To be fair to witches, though he’s not sure why he should be, they’re never fair to him; they’re not alone on the list of things Dean Winchester hates. There’s also—in alphabetic order because his nerdy brother and geeky boyfriend are rubbing off on him far too much—asshole angels, Djinn’s, and Justin Timberlake to name a few.

But at this moment in time, he hates witches most of all. All it takes is one spellbook, a lack of self-preservation (not that he can judge there) and suddenly there’s suspicious deaths all round. Half the time the witches don’t even know what they’ve got themself into. 

This witch does, and Dean’s thankful for that at least. He’s had enough witches fall down the slippery slope to Crowley’s basements through ignorance to last him a lifetime.

“They had it coming!” The witch’s name is Bethany, and Dean decides to add the name Bethany to the list of things he hates as well. However, he promptly removes it because Bethany is too close to Beth, and that’s not something he can keep on the list. “They were always mean to me! They always laughed at me!”

Dean feels like pointing out how pathetic that reasoning is. On the grand scale of things worth seeking revenge for, that hardly registers. But he doesn’t think that would go down well with witch of the week.

They can’t get closer without her noticing. Dean’s gun was sent flying not long after they broke down the warehouse door. They’re pinned behind opposite piles of boxes, and Dean’s pile keeps wobbling precariously every time Bethany sends something flying his way. Just their luck they’ll be crushed to death in a nondescript warehouse, by — Dean looks to his side  _ party napkins — _ great. Dean waves at Cas, distracting him from his attempt to peek around the stack and get a box to the face. 

They need a distraction. Cas is still armed with his Angel Blade. Even if he’s no longer an Angel, he still finds a comfort in the familiar blade, and Dean can’t judge him for that. It’s still inconvenient when this would already be over if Cas would  _ carry a damn gun _ . However, he refuses, so they’re down to Cas’s Angel Blade and the demon knife Dean’s carrying,  neither of which are of much use from this distance. They need to get closer.

He waves again, and when he has Cas’s undivided attention, he points to himself, then brings his hand to his mouth and moves it outwards. Cas tilts his head to one side; his signature confused face. Great. 

Dean should have paid more attention to Sam and Eileen. Sign language would be pretty useful right about now. He points to himself again, brings his hand to his mouth, opens his mouth as if to yell, then points in Bethany’s direction.

Cas doesn’t look any less confused.

Stifling a sigh, he points to Cas this time before pointing behind Cas, waving his arm out in a loop. Cas looks in that direction, turns back to Dean and nods, moving to stand as much as he can and still be hidden by the boxes.

Now, it’s Dean’s turn to move.

Keeping low and hidden, he moves in the opposite direction, putting space between them as he makes his way to the edge of the boxes he’s been using as cover. Bethany is still yelling about how it’s all everyone else’s fault, and how they all deserved it anyway. The projectiles continue to fly around the warehouse as she does so, and Dean hopes next time they’ll get a witch who  _ can’t do either _ . It’s not fair Dean’s gun is limited to a round of 6 while Bethany has unlimited ammunition. 

The crash of flying objects indicates she’s still attacking where Dean and Cas were, but now Dean needs to get her attention. He waits for another crash—that box  _ definitely _ had something breakable in it—before dashing out from his hiding space and sprinting to another set of shelves. His steps are heavy, footsteps echoing through the room, and when he hears Bethany’s delighted yell he knows he’s achieved his goal.

He only just makes it to the cover before something smashes into the space he vacated.

“That’s not what I heard!” Dean calls out, and he feels his shelter shake. “I heard you were a real bitch.”

“They laughed at me!” She screams back. “They’ll never laugh at me again!”

Dean laughs, the harsh sound bubbling with insanity, and he doesn’t try to stifle it. Instead, he lets it go, belting laughter into the warehouse and letting the noise echo around the room. 

Bethany screams, then silence. The projectiles cease. And even though Cas could have finally made his move, Dean doesn’t think so. There’s no sound at all, and Cas would have given him the all clear if he’s made it.

Something is wrong. 

He needs find out what’s going on and get Bethany’s attention back on him. Dean sneaks back to the edge of his shelter. Taking a deep breath, he steadies himself before stepping out from behind his shelter to get a look at Bethany.

His gaze falls on Cas first, behind Bethany, but not yet close enough to attack. Dean’s eyes linger there for a moment too long, and a movement pulls his attention to Bethany, where he should have been looking in the first place. The grin on her face sends a chill through his bones. Before he can react he’s attacked by a blast of sound like he’s at a rock concert and someone just slammed the guitar. His ears ring, his head feels like it’s splitting, and Dean crumples like a puppet with its strings cut.

Just as fast as it started, it ends, and the sharp pain disappears. His head still aches, his ears are still ringing, and the painful buzzing in his ears reminds him of that when he stood too close to the speakers at a gig. Usually, it’s a sign of a good night out and he enjoys that ringing on those occasions, but not this time.

He doesn’t want to move. The ground is comfortable, his head is not. There’s a churning in his stomach just shy of nausea, and he’s not entirely sure if he moves things won’t get worse. He doesn’t know how long he’s been lying there when Cas’s hand comes to rest on his chest. His voice interrupts Dean’s misery. “Dean?”

“I’m alright,” he says, even though it’s not entirely true. He feels like shit, but he’s not dead, and in the world of the Winchesters that makes him all right. 

Dean can imagine the downturn of Cas’ lips and the crease between his eyebrows. When he opens his eyes, his guess is confirmed by the frown on Cas’ face.

“Bethany is dead,” Cas says, still looking him over. “We should probably leave as soon as possible.”

“Clean up in aisle four?” Dean attempts the joke, but he’s still a little woozy, and his voice cracks on the words, ruining his delivery. His stomach heaves again, pushing closer to the edge of being sick. He breathes deeply, sucking in big gulps of air and trying to chase away the nausea. The feeling subsides enough that Dean decides to push himself up on his elbows, then moving to sit. The world spin, and Cas’s arm shoots out to grip Dean’s shoulder, holding him steady. Now that Dean thinks about it, he hit his head pretty hard as he fell. He can feel the tender spot on the back. 

“I’m fine,” Dean insists, sensing the question. He only realises he’s closed his eyes when he opens them and the world comes swimming into focus. He avoids looking at Cas, knowing that concern will be written all over his features. 

When they started this relationship Dean was worried; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do a relationship — not with his history anyway. Sex is easy; it’s a language he knows. He’s always been the fake it till you make it kind of guy when it comes to feelings and affection. Maybe their years of history with pushing each other’s boundaries—literally and figuratively—have paved the way for Dean to open himself up, and the relationship has been easier in some ways than he expected.

In others not so much. 

Cas has always been one to step over boundaries, has always been within Dean’s space — both physically and emotionally. Letting Cas inside those boundaries has been difficult to get used to. Cas reaches out to touch easily, when Dean hesitates. It’s just a way that Cas shows he cares, but Dean is no more comfortable with that touch than Cas’s concern. Having another person to worry about him makes Dean uncomfortable. He knows it’s not fair. He’s been worrying about Sam and Cas and almost everyone on this planet, except Sam’s  _ damn dog, _ for as long as he can remember. Dean also knows Cas's concern for him didn’t start when they fell into this relationship, but people who care about Dean Winchester end up hurt.

“Come on then.” Cas lets go of his shoulder and grabs hold of Dean’s arm to help him stand.

He feels a tingle from Cas’s fingers as they wrap around his forearm, hand gripping tight. It’s probably just some weird leftover magical energy, or maybe Dean’s head is still spinning, but it stops when Cas lets go, and Dean’s concerns drop away.

“Set fire to the warehouse?” Dean asks hopefully. Disposing a body is the last thing he wants to do, not with the way he feels, but Cas shakes his head. 

“That would be more suspicious, I believe. Right now, it looks like an altercation took place, and I think that should be enough to throw any Police off our tracks.”

“An altercation  _ did _ take place,” Dean grumbles, but he’s getting what he wants; getting the fuck out of here without hauling any bodies, so he doesn’t push. His head hurts, and his knee has that twinge that always comes back. The sooner they get out of here the better, so he stows his complaints, grabs his gun from the corner where it had flown to, and tries his best not to limp as they exit the warehouse.

He really hates witches.

* * *

“Should I be concerned that you want a steak after what we just did?”

Cas stops cutting into the steak—medium rare because why would a little witch-killing put you off eating a steak the way it’s meant to be cooked—and looks up at Dean like he’s spewing nonsense. There’s a familiar tilt of the head that Dean had grown used to when Cas was an angel that says  _ I have no idea what that means, _ and Dean supposes that’s fair. He’s not usually squeamish about these things.

It was a stupid thought anyway, one he should have kept inside his head with all his other stupid thoughts.

“Nevermind.” He dismisses his words, turning his attention back to the burger in front of him—also bloody, just the way Dean likes it—but for some reason, the sight of the red meat seems distinctly unappealing today. 

He blames the ringing in his ears, since the thought that he could be going off red meat, or worse, burgers,is more terrifying than facing down a witch gunless.

“Are you feeling okay?” Cas’s words interrupt his debate over whether his onion strings will be more palatable than the burger. 

“Fine, Cas,” He says before shoving a few onion rings in his mouth. They taste better, but his stomach still feels uneasy and adding food to it isn’t helping. He swipes another chip for the sake of it and shoves his plate away.

He can feel Cas's eyes on him, can see the way Cas is still paused, hasn’t resumed eating again, and he knows pushing his food away isn’t helping his case for being fine, but he’s not eating just to appease Cas. 

“I’m fine, Cas,” he repeats, closing his eyes and blocking out the world, willing everything to just calm down.

The hand that touches his own where it rests on the table sends a shock up his arm.

“Bitch!” he yelps, eyes flying open as he pulls his hand away from Cas and cradles it protectively. He scowls, and even if it’s not Cas’s fault, Dean is allowed to blame him a little until he sees the already concerned face grow more concerned.

Cas opens his mouth, and Dean can already hear the words waiting to come out, so he cuts them off at the pass. “You zapped me,” he says. “It just stung a little.”

He's not angry at Cas, he's just  _ angry _ . He can feel Cas's eyes on him—a mix of hurt and concern that is Cas's attempt at puppydog eyes—but it's not going to work on Dean when he knows the ex-angel can still take down a powerful witch with just one blade. 

The silence grows uncomfortable, stark and obvious and it takes Dean a moment to realise why it’s so quiet. Cas has stopped eating and he has that not-convincing expression on his face. 

“Just—eat your dinner Cas. You earned it. I just want to get back to the hotel. The sooner you finish the sooner we can get back there.” He raises his eyebrows in what he hopes is both a sexy and convincing manner. Cas's expression betrays neither his success or failure, but he does start eating again, so Dean will take that as a win. 

He just wants to get back to hotel, and put this whole day behind him. 

* * *

He still feels off during the drive back to the hotel. It’s like an itching under his skin and a twist in his stomach, something he can’t seem to shake off. It makes him want to run, want to fight, and he can’t seem to shake it even when he slams his foot on the gas pedal. The squeal Baby’s tires doesn’t bring him the usual pleasure, but it earns him another concerned look from Cas.

He’s getting pretty sick of those. 

He pulls Baby into the hotel parking lot with another screech of tires, and even with his careful maintenance on her brakes, she struggles with the sharp stop. She’s still rocking on her axle when he exits the car, slamming the door behind him. He can hear Cas opening the door from the passengers side, but he doesn’t wait. Leaving Cas behind, he heads for their twin room, trusting Cas to lock his own door and catch up.

Things don’t feel any better in the room. He needs something, needs to shake the adrenaline, or whatever this is.

He knows the old saying. Fighting, fleeing, or fucking. 

He knows which one he’ll choose. 

Cas enters through the door Dean hadn’t bothered to latch. Dean gives Cas enough time to shed his coat, then he’s on him, fisting his hands into Cas’s shirt. 

Dean realises he hasn’t kissed Cas all day, only gave him a kiss on the shoulder when Cas was in the shower and Dean had just spat his toothpaste. That doesn’t count. Not really. He wants to fix that, wants to feel Cas's lips, wants to taste him. Dean leans close and pushes hard against Cas's and—

He leaps back, yelping.

Dean’s hands fly to his lips, they tingle like pins and needles, but his eyes are locked on Cas. Cas’s eyes are wide with shock, obviously confused.  _ At least confusion is better than concern. _

It’s a ridiculous thought, and he can’t help the hysterical laughter that bubbles out of his mouth. Laughter that brings back Cas’s looks of concern. Laughter which has Cas stepping forward, reaching out for Dean before pulling up short.

With a struggle, Dean forces the laughter down.  _ Well that fucking sucked. _

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Dean says. “It’s not you, Cas. It’s just… physics, or science, or something. It’s static electricity. Sometimes it happens. Just… pick your feet up when you walk.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Cas says, his brows furrowing in concern, and Dean thinks about reaching out to smooth the frown lines. Something stops him, and he clenches his hands and keeps them tight to his sides.

His lips are still tingling, and his head is still spinning. He just wants things to be  _ simple _ , to be  _ easy. _

“What do you think it is then?” he demands. His tone is angrier than he’d like, but it’s been a long day, he’s handled murder and witches, and all he wants to do is rest, maybe destress with his boyfriend and hit the sack.

Cas doesn’t answer, and Dean doesn’t wait as he closes the distance between them and brings his hand to Cas's chin.

This time the pain is worse. The second they touch it’s as if an electric current zapped through his hand. Dean’s been shocked a few times before, and it’s never any less painful no matter the size of the shock. He tries to jerk his hand back, but his muscles lock, the shocks continue, and he can’t open his mouth to scream.

Cas steps away, severing the connection, and Dean drops to the floor like a puppet with his strings cut. Everything hurts, and he can’t think past the pain, can’t do anything more than gasp as his body twitches.

He doesn’t realise he closed his eyes until he’s opening them to find Cas looking down at him. 

Cas is hovering, but keeps a deliberate distance between them. After the last time, Dean is happy to keep that distance. 

Cas might be right. It looks like something’s up.

* * *

They call Sam.

“You’re on speaker,” Dean says, placing the phone on the table. The phone is like a barrier between him and Cas like a  _ do not cross _ sign.  _ Here lies monsters. _

“What’s the problem?”

If that's Sam's first question, maybe Dean should be worried. Just once it would be nice to have a normal conversation. Other brothers call each other to talk about things like baseball and relationships.

“Me and Cas have a problem.” He swears he can hear Sam swallow down the line, and then silence. 

“What—do you—are you sure I’m the best person to have this conversation with?”

“We are having problems touching,” Cas adds. It’s true, but it’s not helping with the Sam situation. 

Sam coughs, his discomfort transported across airwaves and distances to inform them—or maybe just to Dean since Cas seems immune to these things—that Sam  _ does not _ want to be involved in this conversation.

“We think something happened,” Dean cuts in before Sam can say anything or hang up on them, “with the witch.” 

“Oh.” The relief in his voice is obvious. “Oh, okay that—that makes sense. What’s the problem?”

“We’re having problems touching,” Cas repeats, and Dean bites back a groan. 

“Everytime we touch, it hurts,” Dean says bluntly.

“Oh.” Dean hears the sound of keys tapping, and then rustling in the background. “Okay that’s—that’s not normal.”

“You’re telling me.”

“That’s wrong,” Cas interjects. “It’s only Dean who is experiencing pain.” His voice sounds sad, the emotion obvious in his words. When Dean looks he can see a pain in Cas’s eyes — Cas might not be experiencing physical pain, but he’s still suffering.

“Okay.” Sam’s voice is contemplative, and Dean hears a scraping, and then a thump in the background. “Tell me what happened.”

Dean tells him about the witch, about getting hit by something and his head’s been ringing since. He describes the shocks every time he and Cas touched.

“Every time?” Sam asks.

“Yes,” Dean says while Cas says, “No.”

“What?” Dean exclaims, looking at Cas. “Yes it has.”

“No,” Cas repeats. “It’s only when we’ve touched skin to skin.”

Dean blinks. Cas is right. It was when Cas pulled him up by hand. They were fine when Dean gripped Cas’s jacket. Fine until Dean tried to kiss Cas.

“He’s right.”

“Hmmm.” He can hear Sam moving through the phone line, shuffling. “I’ll take a look and give you a call back okay?”

The call disconnects, and Dean leans back in his chair, bringing his right hand up to his face, rubbing up and over his face, before coming to rest at his neck. Cas is watching him with his almost too intense stare, and his time Dean catches it, holds his gaze. There’s concern there, as Dean expected to see, and it sits on his shoulders uncomfortably, but Dean doesn’t try to shake it off this time. This is hurting Cas, and if they can’t touch, he least Dean can do is let Cas show his care by being worried.

The thought occurs to him — slower than it should maybe — and he reaches his foot out, stretching until he feels his booted foot bumps into Cas. 

“Hey,” he says, pressing his shoe into Cas’s leg firmly. It’s something, not what he knows Cas wants, but it’s all he can give now, with the current — whatever this is — hanging over his head. Dean rubs his boot into Cas’s leg, stroking up and down his calf. If this was another time maybe Dean would try to pull Cas in with his touch, or slip his foot up Cas’s leg, move this further. The fact that he can’t progress his means he continues stroking Cas’s leg instead. It’s nice — Dean realises — to touch with no more intent than this. It’s a little unusual for him — he’s usually intent to move things along, where Cas touches always, Dean realises that he usually only reaches out for sex.

Maybe he should change that.

The ring tone interrupts his thoughts, drawing him from them as rapidly as his foot jerks away from Cas, and unintentional consequence in his rush to hit the answer button.

“What have you got for us Sammy?”

“Well you’re an idiot.” Sam tells him in reply, voice smug, and he continues on before Dean can disagree. “Did you smell anything when you were dumb enough to get hit?”

“Hey!” Dean objects before considering the question. “But yeah. It smelt like burnt oil.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Dean asks. “That sounds like a bad oh. What does that ‘oh’ mean?”

“The ‘oh,’ Dean, means I think I found your spell. It’s a spite spell meant to punish the target.”

“Well that sounds fucked.”

“It gets worse.” Dean doesn’t manage to contain the groan this time. “It’s cumulative, that is, it keeps getting worse with every touch. And it’ll keep getting worse. More to the point, if you guys keep touching, you’ll die.”

There’s a moment of silence. Dean can practically hear his heart beating. “Well, fuck.” Why can’t things just be simple? “So how do we fix this, Sam?”

It takes a moment too long, and Dean knows what Sam’s going to say when he finally breaks the silence. “I don’t know. It doesn’t say here.”

“Well that’s just great.”

“We’ll find something,” Sam says.

Cas goes, “There’ll be something.”

“Yeah.” Dean knows his voice doesn’t sound convinced, and he can’t find the energy to fake it. He’s just so  _ tired  _ of it all. 

“We’ll find something,” Sam assures him again.

“Yeah, I’m sure you will, Sammy,” he says. He believes his brother will—somehow they always do—but he’s just so damn tired of all this shit. “I gotta go now, it’s been a long day.”

“Okay. And Dean, just—don’t touch, okay? You guys are pretty far through the curse. Just keep a good distance. Okay?”

“Yeah, Sam.” Dean picks his phone up off the desk. “Night.” Dean hits the disconnect button before Sam can say anything else.

“Dean—”

“I’m tired Cas,” he interrupts. “I just want to go to sleep, okay?”

Dean walks towards the bed before stopping in his tracks. The bed is a double. When they booked the room they were expecting to share the bed. _Did_ share the bed last night with no issues, enjoyed it, even. But now, with their current issues, that’s out of the question.

Cas must be thinking the same thing because he says, “Take the bed Dean. I’ll sleep on the floor.” 

The floor looks like it will suck. But they’ve both slept in worse places. He should offer Castiel the bed; he could sleep on the floor or go outside and sleep in Baby.

“It’ll be fine Dean,” Cas says again. Dean’s too tired to argue further. He feels like shit, and it’s been a shit day, and all he wants to do is sleep. He nods, collapsing onto the bed. He’s still clothed, and he hasn’t brushed his teeth, but he just genuinely  _ does not give a fuck _ anymore.

He punches the pillow beneath his head, folding his arms beneath the pillow and turning his head to the side. Tomorrow—tomorrow he’ll deal with the touching problem.

* * *

He wakes slowly. It’s a good day when he can take the time to wake up. 

His brain is still foggy and his head hurts. It’s not the kind of headaches he gets when he hasn’t had enough sleep, and he makes a note to take something for it. There’s a time and a place for suffering through pain, but Dean isn’t the type to suffer just for the sake of it. 

Dean wants nothing more than to relax in bed, but his bladder has other ideas. With a groan of protest, he pushes onto his elbows and glances around the room. Cas is sitting at the shitty table, laptop already open in front of him. So, Cas is already researching, or maybe looking for a new case for them. The position puts extra pressure on his bladder, informing him that yes, he really needs to do something about it. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Dean pushes away from the bed and moves towards the bathroom. 

The table is on his way to the bathroom, and he doesn’t think before leaning to drop a kiss on Cas's head. 

There’s a crack, and Dean’s high pitched yelp is laced with pain. He jumps back automatically, falling over his feet in his haste and landing hard on his ass as his hands press against his lips. 

His head hurts. 

Cas leaps from his chair, moving towards Dean. Already reaching for Dean—

“Don’t,” Dean whispers, his voice hoarse and broken. It’s all coming back to him now—the case, the witch, the  _ curse _ that he’d fucking forgotten just for a moment. “I’m taking a shower.”

He turns the shower as hot as it will go. The water pressure is pitiful, but the heat is still enough to fill the room with steam, overwhelming the old and underpowered exhaust fan. He steps into the shower, hissing as the hot water hits his skin, but makes no attempt to change it. 

He’s not sure how long he’s in the shower—long enough for his skin to turn pruney, not long enough for him to be ready to face the world or Cas again—when he hears a knock on the bathroom door.

“Dean,” Cas calls out, opening the door to speak to him. “Sam thinks he might have a solution.”

“I’ll be right out,” he responds, waiting for the telltale click of the door before he turns off the water. There is an end in sight.

* * *

Sam confirms what Cas told him in the shower. Dean tries to press for more information, but Sam clams up. The silence is telling—the solution will come at a cost Sam doesn’t want to share; Dean takes that to mean he either talked to someone he shouldn’t have, or they now owe a favour to someone Dean doesn’t want to. There’s nothing he can do about it now, and Dean’s not going to pitch a fit when he’s got bigger issues at hand.

Like the uncomfortable distance between himself and Cas.

It’s funny, normally he’d be drying his hair and walking around the room not thinking about how much he touches Cas. Now that they can’t touch, it’s all Dean can think about. Cas is seated at the table, back ramrod straight and looking more uncomfortable than Dean’s seen him in a long time. Dean leans against the hotel wall, standing next to the shitty photograph hanging against the shitty faded and peeling wallpaper, trying to portray a casualness he doesn’t feel inside. 

It’s not for Cas—who Dean’s sure can see right through his faux-calm—but for himself. Fake the smile Winchester. Fake it and maybe, just maybe, he can keep it all together.

“It’ll take a bit to get them, but I should have all the ingredients together by the time you guys make it back to the bunker,” Sam says, dragging Dean from his thoughts. “There’s no need to rush back though.”

That’s Sammy’s way of saying  _ ‘don’t speed, Dean’ _ which he hears and promptly ignores. “We’ll see you when we see you,” Dean says instead, and the sigh, loud enough to be audible even through the shitty speaker, tells him Sam knows exactly what Dean means by that.

“Right,” Sam says, sounding resigned to Dean’s driving habits. “Drive safe.”

Dean doesn’t dignify that with an answer. 

* * *

The car ride is tense. His head still aches, but that’s nothing compared to the thrum underneath his skin. To the tension in his body every time he moves his arm, hand seeking Cas without conscious thought only to abort the movement.

It’s a form of torture. Dean takes his frustration out on the road, white knuckling Baby’s steering wheel and the gear shift, and pushing his foot on the pedal harder. Driving home is usually Dean’s favourite part of the hunt, now that he has a home to return to. When the hunt is over, and he can cruise home, with Sammy or Cas or all three of them, there’s no rush. 

Sometimes they do the tourist thing, stopping at places on the way home. It’s nice not having a case they have to rush to, not having the threat of people’s lives hanging over them. It’s only the call of the fabulous bunker shower and his memory foam bed, and maybe even the thought of having Cas in  _ his bed with him _ . He looks forward to all of it but not enough to race the miles.

Except, today is nothing like that. Every mile is another mile in silence, another mile spent where Dean  _ can’t touch Cas.  _ He knows with every mile they pass he gets closer to the bunker, gets closer to  _ breaking the curse,  _ and that’s all Dean wants. Just wants to get this fixed—needs to get this fixed. He’s not unfamiliar with patience, with being denied something, but this is  _ Cas _ and he just wants it all over.

He presses his foot down a little harder at the thought, ignoring the look from Cas while muttering an apology to Baby. He knows she’d understand, though.

* * *

They pull into the garage well under the six hours it takes to get here.

“So what do we need Sam? A blood sacrifice?” Dean’s half joking. He’s not expecting that to be needed, but if it is, he probably would. It wouldn’t be the first time Dean’s bled for the job, bled for his family, bled for Cas; he’s done it before and he’ll do it again.

Sam just rolls his eyes.

“No Dean,” he says, exasperated. That, at least, is familiar when everything else has been so out of place today.  Dean takes a moment to appreciate it. “You’re going to have to take a bath.”

“What?”

Sam’s joking. It’s not the first time he’s made a hygiene joke at Dean’s expense. Just because he doesn’t shampoo and condition his hair every day doesn’t mean he doesn’t wash. Not everyone insists on keeping Thor-like luscious locks and needs to groom them accordingly.

Sam grins at him, but there’s no hint of a joke in his expression.

“A cleansing bath?” Cas asks from behind Dean, his voice serious. 

Dean whips his head around so quickly he might pull a muscle. “Really?” he asks, astounded.

“It’s quite common,” Cas assures him. “I assume he’ll require salts?”

“What?” he repeats.

“Yes,” Sam says, ignoring Dean’s question entirely and addressing Cas instead. “I’ve gathered epson salts, sea salt, Pennyroyal, Witch Hazel—”

“Witch Hazel?”

“He needs to get completely wet, and he’ll need to soak in the water for at least twenty minutes. He can’t dry off.”

“Alright,” Cas agrees.

“I don’t want to have a bath!” Dean objects, loudly, and both Sam and Cas turn to look at him as Dean realised just how childish he sounds. “It’s stupid,” he adds, a little pathetically, aware of just how  _ stupid _ he sounds.

“Seriously, Dean,” Sam says, his voice frustrated, and Dean can’t blame him, not really. “This is what it takes. You can either suck it up, or go without.”

Sam doesn’t finish the sentence, doesn’t say  _ without touching Cas,  _ but the words don’t need to be said. Dean hears them loud and clear.

* * *

Cas takes charge, taking everything from Sam before walking off without a word, leaving Dean no choice but to follow. 

The bunker has numerous showers but only one bath, and Dean’s never used it. Doesn’t even like to use the bathroom it’s held in. It’s too luxurious, and he would rather shower in the bathroom closer to his own room. Even on the days when his muscles are a mess of aches and pains, he still avoids the bath. Instead, he takes advantage of the never ending hot water in the shower.

The bathroom is clean—the tiled walls spotless and sparkling, too clean for a room hardly used—which suggests that someone must use it at least occasionally. There’s a shower in the corner, and it too, is more indulgent than the shower Dean usually uses. The glass shower walls and ceramic handles fancier than anything Dean has ever seen. 

But it’s nothing compared to the bath. All sparkling white ceramic and claw feet, and Dean feels out of place just looking at it.

Cas walks straight to the bath and turns on the water. He unbuttons his cuffs, and Dean’s mouth dries, his eyes locks on Cas’s nimble fingers as he rolls his sleeves smoothly. Cas drops to his knees beside the bathtub, before turning his attention to the bag he’d obtained from Sam.

The bathroom is bigger than Dean’s usual one, but it feels small due to the curse-given restrictions. He can’t escape Cas’s presence, but he can’t enter his space.

Cas doesn’t speak as he runs the bath, adding the salts and herbs as he does so. Dean watches in silence and doesn’t move from his position against the wall just inside the door, as far as he can be from Cas Cas’s movements are sure as if this is just another bath. As if this is something usual for Cas 

“It’s ready,” Cas says, dragging Dean from his thoughts. Cas moves away from the bath, and Dean knows that’s his cue to move. Slowly, he pushes away from the wall, approaching the bath with more than a little trepidation.

The water is murky, a strange purple, from everything Cas added. He can still see the floating herbs. It looks wrong, Dean may be no bath expert, but there should be bubbles.

His apprehension must show, because Cas adds, “We can’t risk adding anything else, it can reacted or…”

Cas trails off, but Dean knows what's at stake here, and it’s that reminder which spurs him into action. He sheds his jacket and kicks off his shoes, then pulls off his flannel and shirt. When he’s standing only in his briefs, he throws a look at Cas, and isn’t surprised to find Cas’s eyes locked on him. He’s slower as he strips his underwear, not breaking eye contact.

Dean hisses when his foot hits the water. It’s is uncomfortably hot, but he continues slipping beneath the surface. He doesn’t want to waste his time waiting for the water to cool, not when there’s a chance this nightmare will all be over in just twenty short minutes. 

When he’s seated in the bath, he shuts his eyes, dipping his head underneath the water. He holds his breath, counting out the seconds until the pressure in his lungs becomes too much, and his heart pounds in his chest. He lets out the breath when he breaks from the water and sucks in another When he opens his eyes, Cas is closer, concern written on his features where he stands at the end of the bath.

The clock the wall reads 6:13pm.

The way Cas watches him fills him with heat unrelated to the temperature of the water. There’s nothing to hide Dean from Cas, and his face burns under the attention. A part of his brain—the part not to be trusted—suggests he should try posing for Cas, should artistically drape himself over the bath, or throw his legs up in the air just to see if it’ll get a reaction out of Cas. Because what he really wants to do is reach out and touch Cas, to place his hand on the back of Cas’s neck and drag him in for a kiss. 

But he can't do that

The clock reads 6:17.

Dean sighs, dropping underneath the water. Sam said he needed to keep wet for the spell to work. This time he doesn’t hold his breath, instead, he makes a duck underneath the water before coming back up for air. He wipes his eyes before his attention shifts back to Cas. Cas’s eyes are beautiful, which isn’t news to Dean, but it’s rare for Dean to have the opportunity to just look at them, to take them in and appreciate them. They’re beautiful, and Dean lets himself get lost in them for a moment or five.

6:20.

He dunks again, blowing out air while underneath the water. The water tastes funny, not bad, just weird, although Dean supposes soap wouldn’t taste any better. Fake apple is hardly better than Pennyroyal and Witch Hazel.

6:23. Half way done.

Dean dips under once more. This time when he comes up he doesn’t waste time wiping the water from his eyes and mouth. 

Cas is still watching him, his gaze hungry in a way Dean has seen many times before, and his body flushes again. There’s nothing to hide his body from Cas, so he closes his eyes as if his eyelids will shield him from Cas. The water is warm, and Dean lets his mind drift, thinking about Cas and his hungry eyes, thinking of the touches he’s been denied. He thinks about a particularly good morning when Cas woke him up with a blow job, and his stomach clench at the thought.

His eyes shoot open, and he sees Cas then the clock. It reads 6:30.

Just three more minutes. Twenty minutes has never felt so long.

“You know we’re going to have to test this by touching right?” Dean asks, breaking the uneasy silence between them.

“Yes.”

Cas finally looks away, turning from Dean to look at the clock behind him, and they watch in silence as the clock counts down, the minute hand moving slowly closer to six thirty three.

And then past it.

Cas turns to look at him, his eyes searching for Dean’s. Dean can’t meet them yet. Instead, he keeps his eyes locked on the clock, watching as the hand makes it’s round. He can feel the weight of Cas’s eyes on him, can feel Cas waiting for him. Dean’s got to make the move here, but as much as he misses Cas's touch—and he  _ does _ —there’s hesitation. The minute hand hits forty before Dean brings himself to move. 

He moves quickly, seizing the moment and his courage. He sits up in the bath and reaches for Cas. His right hand wraps around Cas’s bicep, soaking his shirt. The bath water sloshes noisily around him, unimpressed by his too-fast movement, but he doesn’t care as he reaches out with his left hand. He doesn’t want to hesitate, but his shaking hand moves slowly. Cas's eyes are locked on his fingers as they move towards his face.

He jerks forward and closes the distance, fingers bumping too hard into Cas’s cheek, and he shuts his eyes, expecting pain.

It doesn’t come.

He opens his eyes slowly, afraid to move too fast in case it reset the spell or the curse. It’s the sight of his fingers against Cas’s hands which brings it home for him, tells him that yes, this is over.

For a second they’re frozen, waiting.

Then Cas moves.

He’s quicker than Dean expected, pushing Dean back against the tub. Dean’s hand falls from Cas’s face and grips Cas's arm, and he goes with the flow as the water sloshes in waves around him. Cas finally closes the distance between them, bringing his own hand up to Dean’s neck, pulling him in for a rough kiss.

It’s too rough and their teeth click together painfully, but it’s perfect, and Dean doesn’t want anything else. He pulls back to reposition them before diving in again, closing the distance between them to seal their lips together. 

Dean is already parting his lips when Cas's tongue flicks against them, pushing his way inside Dean’s mouth, tracing his lips. Lips which had caused excruciating pain when Dean tried to kiss them this morning. 

But he doesn’t want to think about that, and it’s easy to forget with Cas's tongue in his mouth and his thumb rubbing patterns against his cheek. Easier still when the hand slips further down and kneads the perpetual knot in the muscles at Dean’s neck, forcing a groan which Cas captures with his lips before the hand drifts further still.

Cas tweaks a nipple, only lightly, but it’s enough to have Dean jerking, enough to have him uttering curses in his head as his nipple stings. His stomach twitches under Cas's hand as it moves under water. When it comes to a rest at the thick patch of hair above his cock, Dean breaks the kiss and gasps for air as he buries his head against Cas’s shoulder. The material of Cas’s shirt is soft, but it feels rough against Dean’s skin.  Dean turns to the crook of Cas's neck as Cas’s hand strokes through Dean’s pubic hair, light brushes that Dean knows from experience are designed to tease just as much as arouse. 

Dean bites Cas's shoulder through his shirt, gripping the flesh for a moment before it slips from his teeth, leaving only the material between his lips. He doesn’t know if that’s what finally motivates Cas to move his hand, but Cas  _ does, _ and Dean can’t contain the moan pulled from deep within his stomach. Dean drops the shirt from his teeth and turns to bury his head into Cas's shoulder. Cas strokes his cock, long and slow as Dean breaths heavily against Cas’s shoulder.

Against his  _ shirt _ .

He wants more.

“Cas, please—” he gasps, turning his head so his words aren’t muffled. So he’s speaking them into Cas's ear. “Please, I need to feel you.”

“I’ve got you,” Cas says, increasing his strokes, but that’s not it. Dean struggles to focus, to find the words he needs to say.

“No,” he says, pulling his head away from Cas's shoulder, moving so he can look Cas in the eye. It takes all his self control to place his hand on Cas's arm, stopping his movements. “Join me. In the bath.”

Cas stands up so fast Dean slips backwards with a splash, soaking Cas's pants. Cas strips them off, dropping his clothes to the ground. Gentle hands push him forward, and then Cas is slipping in behind him. The water has cooled, and it can’t be all that pleasant, but it doesn’t seem to bother Cas as he moves, slipping a leg on either side of Dean. 

Dean can feel Cas's erection against his back, but Cas doesn’t do anything more than rut gently against him as he takes Dean’s cock in his hand again. Dean leans back, resting his head against Cas’s shoulder, and his hands come up to grip Cas’s legs as Cas strokes him, picking up where he left off only a moment before.

Cas pulls him in tight, and  _ this _ , this is what he wanted. They try to make up for the touches they’d been denied. It’s only been a day, but Dean felt the absence of Cas's touch acutely, and he can’t get enough now. He’s bracketed by Cas's legs, surrounded by his hands, by his chest, and by Cas rutting against his back.

They’re making a mess, the water making waves and splashing over the sides of the bath. Dean doesn’t give a fuck, just holds onto Cas and leans back against him, hoping to give Cas purchase as he thrusts.

Heat pools in his stomach, and he can hear Cas’s breaths loud and heavy and hot by his ear. It’s a gradual increase. His stomach tenses, the pressure building. When it releases, Dean shuts his eyes, throws his head back against Cas's shoulder, and grips his legs tightly. 

Cas strokes Dean through his orgasm as he thrusts against him. His cock is hard against Dean’s back, and Dean knows he should move, should do something to try and reciprocate, but his brain lags, stuck in that post-orgasmic high. It’s only a moment before he hears the sharp intake of breath. Cas pulls him close as he comes against Dean’s back.

The water is cold by the time they get out of the tub. They towel each other off, and Dean can’t resist following the path of the towel with his hands, savouring the touch now that he’s allowed to, appreciating it more now that he knows it’s not to be taken for granted.

“That wasn’t horrible,” Dean admits when they’ve wrapped themselves up in a set of the luxurious bathrobes. “I could probably do that again.” Cas raises an eyebrow, and Dean adds, “The bath. That curse was hell.”

Cas grins, and Dean Dean knows he sees straight through him. Dean can deal with that, never expecting anything less even though he’ll never admit it out loud. 

“Next time,” Cas says, brushing their foreheads together and linking their fingers lightly, “it’ll be under better circumstances.”

“I’d like that,” Dean agrees, gripping Cas’s hand tight in his own. “I’d like that a lot.”

**Author's Note:**

> So this was my fic! I hope you enjoyed this flip on _sex magic_ and the _fuck or die_ trope. It was fun to do!
> 
> For anyone is interested, I based the escalation of this off the [Milgram Experiment](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Milgram_experiment) \- it's super interesting, and a little horrendous. Feel free to hit me up if you have any thoughts or queries about it.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Comments and Kudos give me life  
> Find me at tumblr at [candybarrnerd](http://candybarrnerd.tumblr.com/)


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